


Uninvited: living loved when you feel left out

by JLKnox



Series: How Brio could actually work... [6]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate reasons for the same actions, Angst and Feels, Between the Scenes, F/M, babydaddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLKnox/pseuds/JLKnox
Summary: A small interlude in the aftermath of their encounter in the paper shop: Rio (and a little Beth) tries to get the feelings straight.===Everything I’ve been holding in leaves my body at once when the silhouette at the picnic table is short and stocky, instead of long and angular. He hears and gives me a smirk.“Think fast, little lady,” he whisper-calls as he tosses me a small lump. I catch the flip-phone one-handed and spin on my heel to leave without even acknowledging him. I was above him before, certainly, I will be again.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: How Brio could actually work... [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657150
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Uninvited: living loved when you feel left out

**Author's Note:**

> The italics call back to [ Chapter 9 of Total Money Makeover ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18211832/chapters/43827610) where Rio pushes Beth for a relationship more involved than just sex.

> Are you alive?

This message was undeliverable <

> I hope you’re ok, wherever you are.

This message was undeliverable <

> I think I’m going to have to do this on my own. I understand why you’re gone, but things are too bad here.

This message was undeliverable <

> I have no idea why I’m still doing this. I know you’re dead. I know you can’t help me. I guess it’s part of my grief?

This message was undeliverable <

> It took forever, but I finally got it right. I would tell you if you were here. LOL, idk if you’d be angry or proud. Probably both. But it feels really good, to be doing for myself. You always believed in me

This message was undeliverable <

Sitting in the van, in the dark, in my driveway, the glow from my phone glints off my wet cheeks and catches my eye in the rearview. I wipe away the brimming tears as I look through all the undeliverable texts I sent him while he was gone. Tried to recapture how it felt, having something of my own, even if I was too scared to use it once I got it right. He was right, I don’t always mess things up, but he was wrong, my spine isn’t always steel.

But it was _mine._

And now it’s not.

I know I owe him. I know none of this would have gone this far if he hadn’t groomed me. But it started because of what I did: we robbed the Fine & Frugal on our own steam. And the reason he’s in my life is because it worked too well! I did it – right – and here is another thing that is mine.

I didn’t know Gil was using Rio’s guys to wash. I didn’t need or want to know. That’s Gil’s business. But the money…that’s _mine_. My business, my idea, my method, my friends placed in the right jobs to make it happen.

 _He_ needs me alive?

More like he’s got nothing so he’s going to take what’s mine.

=sigh=

But to outward appearances, I tried to take his life. And now my life is his.

A little tickle starts in my groin when I think that.

No! I need my kids, and to have my kids, I need …Dean. Ugh, I can’t even pretend that’s okay. The tickle is replaced by a violent shudder and nausea beyond morning sickness.

But to afford my kids, and to stay alive, I need Rio.

There’s no best choice here.

I straighten up, release my seatbelt, gather up my purse and go to drop my phone inside when it lights up again.

1084 <

My breath stops so fast, I hiccup. I swear I can hear my heartbeats and feel them individually. My hands are so clumsy I can barely reply.

> w/w?

Time slows when the ding comes back immediately:

Back e0 <

Taking a very deep breath and wondering why he left the print shop to just come straight here… or how I didn’t see his gigantic Hummer… I count in for 3, out for 3 as I breathe to try to calm down. Phone in my handbag and keys in my fist, I walk around the back of the house without going in.

Everything I’ve been holding in leaves my body at once when the silhouette at the picnic table is short and stocky, instead of long and angular. He hears and gives me a smirk.

“Think fast, _little_ lady,” he whisper-calls as he tosses me a small lump. I catch the flip-phone one-handed and spin on my heel to leave without even acknowledging him. I was above him before, certainly, I will be again. “Only number in there is mine. You got questions or orders, Imma guy gonna deal with it.” His sneer is ugly, and it’s clear he’s enjoying this reversal.

The back door closes behind me without a word.

“Bitch,” Mick mutters as he goes to thumb off the speakerphone on his own burner.

“Nah-uh,” comes through tinnily. “Watch yer mouth. This setup gonna require you to be _civil_ or there be prollems.” Luckily, there’s no videochat on these, so Rio can’t see the extreme eyeroll, almost teenager-worthy, which follows that.

“Yeah, boss,” he says before disconnecting.

I hang up on Mick, realizin it went bout as well as spected. The half-hour Elizabeth took to clean up and shut down the store for reals gave me enough time t’finish off into a rubber in the car an drive back to the new loft. Lookin roun at my new decor, I wonder why she dinnint just sell all the crap in the storage lockers on amazon or ebay or sumpin. The sweaters themselves shoulda paid at least one month mortgage.

Shakin my damn head, I hit the shower.

The hot water an steam help unwind me, but also loosen my thoughts. My brain swirl round like the vapor in my half a th’double-wide I had put in fore I knew how fucked up this whole situation gone be. I walk forward, palms out, to find the zact place where the steam from my side ain’t enough to keep me warm anymore. Think bout reachin out to turn on the second shower head.

But she ain’t here.

An I dunno why.

Dunno why my brain fucked this over. Only thing I can think a is that bein apart fucks us both. It make me crazy; it make her scared an sad. Then we yell.

An fuck these guys. I dunno why I can’t jus say, “It was all part a the plan. She crew.” S’like I want a reason t’be mad. But I want a reason to not kill her. But every time I see her, my body tense an I live it again: her face as she pull the trigger, the sound a the shots, the feel a the bullets. Yanno, PTSD. This ain’t my first trauma rodeo. But usually, I get to get revenge. It don get ridda the flashbacks, but somehow I feel better.

Can’t do it.

Guess bein wit her make me crazy, too.

I walk back directly under my spray an enjoy my thoughts instead. We had plenty a good times around showers: that first night at the saferoom, directly after I visited the showroom – man, fuckin up that Lambo was priceless – an that day at her house. Fuck what happened when she went to the shower, but the leadup was pretty enjoyable. Those fuckin socks, yo. I laugh an between that an the Lambo, mi pito is ready for round two. I think bout how she look wet, how she smell wet, how she feel wet, an even though I use these thoughts dozens a times at the hotel, it still get me where I’m goin.

Cleanin off again, I turn back round an empty half laughin at me. Taunt me wit all the preparations I made for us. Like it’d be that easy. Move her in wit me an she can be a single mom, right? Towel off as I walk out into the loft. Lookit the bolted wooden pull-out doors in the far wall that connect to the other unit on this floor. Even though it less income for me, I ain’t rent it out, I made it part a my space. She could have her brood over but wit th’doors closed, it still look like it a separate place; open it up after dingleberry make a pickup or drop-off.

 _“Until you figure out what_ more _looks like – until you figure out a way to get it – I don’t want to hear anything more about it.”_

Well, ma, I figured out what more look like. I figured out a way to get it. Where you at?

 _You and I wash dishes next to each other at the sink? Really? Is that how it’s going to be? Is that who_ you _can be?”_

I think she ask that before she seen what I do to provide for Marcus. Fore she knew that’s who I am half the time. Cashmere turtleneck cover a lot.

_“Is that who I want? Is that who you want me to want?”_

I guess that the part missing. Zis who she want?

Don’t she realize it ain’t gotta be either?

God it insulting to tell her ?por que no los dos? so many times.

Soon as I figure out howta fix the whole flashback thing witout killin her, we good.

I walk back through “my” half the loft – the penthouse suite – pour another drink.

Walk back over t’the middle doors, unbolt them. Before I get too drunk, I should move this stuff. Corner a th’other loft sectioned off wit bookshelves. Walk in there, kick the pile a flat-pack: crib, changin table, bounce chair, swing. Drag it to my place, near the fire escape. Automatic diaper pail, carseat/stroller combo, snuggie – all still in boxes – one by one go to the pile.

I got a few days left on the receipts still.

In my head, I call it my son, but I ain’t know, so the only stuffy a purple corduroy horse. Pick it up last, bring it wit me. Another drink in, prolly sing “Ol Town Road” to it, but right now I jus offer it some bourbon.

I know she’d say it her kid, an she ain’t wrong.

But it was _mine._

An now it’s not.


End file.
